Reginald Reid

MEMORIES
How can my mind ever stem the flow of memories?
Those memories, which now like a torrent surge so powerfully reviving past times denied, ignored,
awoken by some trivial or dramatic event that heralds the arrival of some past hidden treasure, or doom.
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Have you been there in the early morning
when the sun has been unseen the longest time,
when the air is coldest and you must leave your bed
while birds are waking and calling?
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Coxs River

I can hear the water running over rocks and logs and spills
Assembling a torrent that has trickled from the hills
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A NEW TREE FOR EVERY DAY

Beneath the trees upon the ground
Dead branches leaves and twigs abound
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Always a song

Here in my body beats the rhythm of life.
Known before I was born as the signal of good
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AUTUMN MORNING
Serene clouds stir in the valley's misty dawn
bathed in curling fog and breeze
while silently from slumbering valleys
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DESIRE


In secret I seek you constantly
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City Views

Mirrored glass canyons windswept in the shadows
Smokers skulking in doorways their dependence so hollow
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BIRDS

A rounded young fellow known as Franklin the finch
Who measured his stature in terms of an inch
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DESPERATE DAN

Up over the rise and down the hill
Four and ten horsemen came riding still
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At Your Age

Don't you just hate it when they say "At your Age"
Yes, AT YOUR AGE you should just expect these sorts of things to happen
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HOW SHOULD A MAN MEASURE HIS LIFE

How should a man measure his life?
Did he live it alone or share with a wife
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DREAMS


What miracle transports me by my mind
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END OF DAY

Sunset shades of orange, bronze and gold
tinged with fading softest blue
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AUTUMN MORNING
Serene clouds stir in the valley's misty dawn
bathed in curling fog and breeze
while silently from slumbering valleys
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THE ROAD TO DEMENTIA

I'm on the road to Dementia
a town I thought was far, far away.
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Ghandi's Seven Deadly Sins

There were more than just Ten Commandments delivered by Moses,
Ever since of rules there have been many proposers.
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Beauty can be sinister

Hills ablaze with yellow flowers
Saint John's wort spreads out for hours
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IT IS BETTER TO HAVE LIVED
It is better to have lived than not have lived
For if I had never been I would not have ever seen
The wonders of man and world, or tasted all that unfurled
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PICTURE PERFECT


I gazed upon a sheltered glasslike mirror pond
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